


Ich liebe dich / मैं तुमसे प्यार करता हूँ / I love you

by LeagueOfWonder



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Character Death, Character Study, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Language Barrier, M/M, Multi, OT3, Polyamory, Romance, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Threesome - F/M/M, and also the future is basically exactly like it is now, because this isn't a story about how wild the technology is, it's about the people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-05-21 01:21:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14905790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeagueOfWonder/pseuds/LeagueOfWonder
Summary: Slowly, enunciating each word clearly, Rajan said, “Do you speak English?”"No," Wolfgang said. "Nein."Or: Wolfgang is the last of the cluster, which is bad enough, except he only speaks German and Russian. He and Rajan no longer have a common language.





	1. Chapter 1

“She’s with us, Rajan. She’s here still,” Wolfgang whispered.

Kala stood beside the both of them, grasping Rajan’s hand in hers and looking into Wolfgang’s eyes, even as she lay in the hospital bed in front of them, with her eyes closed and a slowing heartbeat. 

She whispered using Wolfgang as her mouthpiece, sharing his body so that Rajan could be there for her final moments as well. She spoke fast, and Wolfgang’s heart ached. He could feel her fear of not being able to say everything she wanted to before she died. He could feel as the connection began to sever.

“I love you both so much. Don’t either of you forget that you have each other. I will be with you both until the end of your days, I promise, even if you can’t see me. I’ll be there. I love you. I love you. I love you,” Kala said. The endless series of _I love you_ ’s stopped, until she faded away as if she had never been there.

She died then, with the words _I love you_ on her lips. 

Kala’s skin had turned a greenish yellow in the hospital bed. Wolfgang felt sick to his stomach as he looked at her, and finally had to make the decision to shut his eyes. Her hair, which had started to acquire streaks of grey after their fortieth birthday, lay spread out across her pillow. Rajan clutched her hand to his and whispered prayers to Ganesha in his native Hindi.

Minutes later, a nurse walked in. He checked for a pulse and breathing and, when he found none, declared Kala Dandekar dead at exactly 17:00.

“I'm sorry for your loss. You can have as long as you need with her,” he intoned, before walking back out into the general hospice ward.

Wolfgang felt tears begin to trickle down his face. Rajan had already begun to bawl. Wolfgang shuffled closer to Kala’s bed—Kala, oh god, Kala is dead, my Kala is dead—and held Rajan as he cried in earnest. Rajan turned his face into Wolfgang’s shoulder.

Finally, Wolfgang dared to look down upon the body of his loved one. He held his lover in his arms as another lay dead before him. _She’s dead. She’s never coming back. I will never see her again. I will never talk to her again. She’s dead. She’s gone. She’s dead._

_I love her and she’s gone._

Wolfgang screamed, a quiet scream muffled into his palms, but a scream nonetheless. Rajan held Wolfgang and let him.

“Rajan. Kala,” Wolfgang said. Rajan did not reply.

By 17:30, they had left the hospital. Wolfgang wanted to be anywhere else than in that busy street in India. He wanted to visit Sun, have her tell him to be strong in that wry tone of hers. He wanted to visit Lito, so he could tell him to let it out, to experience his emotions fully. He wanted so much that he could not have.

To be the last of a cluster is a terrible thing.

_I am dead. All the parts of me are dead. I am nothing anymore. Kala is dead. They are all dead. We are dead._

Rajan and Wolfgang held hands as they rode home in absolute silence. The sun had set as they took the elevator to the penthouse, crawling into a bed which Kala had shared with them just three nights ago, before the stroke. Her imprint in the bed was still there. Wolfgang could see the shape of her body. Rajan and Wolfgang, without even exchanging a word, both turned back and took the sofa bed. Perhaps their backs would hurt in the morning, and it might be difficult to get up, but at least that bit of Kala would not be gone yet.

They grasped for the warm comfort of one another, falling asleep wrapped together irrevocably. It felt wrong that a third person was not with them. _She’s dead_.

In the morning, Rajan turned and said to him, “प्रेमी, हमें उठने की जरूरत है.”

Wolfgang blinked.

“In English?" Rajan asked.

Wolfgang blinked again, and Rajan watched as a creeping sort of horror seemed to take over Wolfgang’s face. His body had begun to tense next to Rajan’s, and Rajan was at a loss for what was wrong.

Then, a thought occurred to him. It was one of those ones that he might have ignored as ridiculous if not for the look on Wolfgang’s face.

“Wolfgang,” Rajan said. “Look at me.”

Wolfgang turned his face toward Rajan, but Rajan already had an inkling that it was not because Wolfgang understood what he was saying.

Slowly, enunciating each word clearly, Rajan said, “Do you speak English?”

Rajan’s face fell. He could see the answer written on Wolfgang’s face before he ever said anything.

“No,” Wolfgang said, making use of one of the few English words he knew. “Nein,” he added.

“How did I go forty years without knowing you don’t speak English? जड़बुद्धि.”

“Wie habe ich nicht daran gedacht? Was werden wir machen? Wir können nicht einmal mehr reden.”

“हम कभी बात नहीं करेंगे. मैं कभी भी अपने जीवन के प्यार से बात करने में सक्षम नहीं हूं.”

Wolfgang wanted to let his soul flutter away from his body and join Kala in death. His mind was empty of everything but his own thoughts, in a way it had not been since before he was twenty-seven. Instead, he felt the ever-present ache of all the people in the world who mattered to him, save one, being dead. He could feel the severed connection in his head, the acute sensation that there should be something there, but that every time he tried to reach out to find it, there was only emptiness. And now, even as he held and was held by the man who he loved most in the world, he was utterly alone. He could not even speak.

"Jetzt bin ich allein. Ich bin so allein.”

“It’s alright. It’s all going to be okay. I love you. I love you.”

Wolfgang, who had tensed up in anguish, relaxed somewhat when he heard those words. There was some English he knew.

“I love you,” Wolfgang replied, in poorly accented English. “I love you. I love you.” He wanted to continue, but the reminder of Kala’s last words were too much and he abruptly cut off.

Rajan clung even harder to Wolfgang, and neither dared speak another word.

Rajan and Wolfgang never got out of bed that day. The next morning, when dawn had barely risen, Rajan gently disentangled himself from Wolfgang. When Wolfgang made questioning murmurs, Rajan shushed him and began to prepare breakfast, taking the leftover dal that Kala had made and stuffing it into dough. 

When it was finished he took it over to Wolfgang, who by this point was sitting up in bed and watching Rajan make his way around the kitchen from the sofa bed in the living room. Wolfgang took it gratefully. Where normally he would have never gone without saying a “Thank you” for the meal, he chose not to say anything.

They ate in silence, unpunctuated by Kala’s need to talk, and burdened under the weight that even if they wanted to, they could not.

Finally, when the meal was almost finished, Rajan said, “Breakfast.”

Wolfgang looked up questioningly.

“Break - fast,” he enunciated slowly, while pointing to his plate. Rajan smiled, a little wryly and a little melancholic all at once, as he was reduced to pointing and making gestures to get something across to one of the two people who knew him best in the universe. “Breakfast.”

Wolfgang nodded. “Brikfast?” he repeated.

Rajan smiled at the pronunciation, and nodded back.

“Frühstück,” Wolfgang returned.

Rajan’s eyebrows went up. “Frooshtuck?”

Wolfgang laughed and nodded.

They smiled goofily at each other across the table, and for just a few seconds, they were happy again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everything that isn't english is from google translate
> 
> please correct it if you speak any of these languages! I really appreciate it


	2. Chapter 2

It is raining in Paris. Wolfgang had to find out from a weather app.

\---

Wolfgang starts to go out in the evenings. After dinner, he washes the dishes and instead of settling down with a book together in bed, as was their custom, he would collect his keys, brush his hair, and kiss Rajan goodbye before walking out.

Rajan would be left in the spacious apartment, wondering where his husband is going so late in the day, and utterly unable to ask. Finally, he stops staying up late, waiting for Wolfgang to come back. He goes to bed early and lays in the bed, utterly alone. It had been years since he had gone to bed without both of his spouses with him, and he found it was lonely to stare up at the ceiling without someone else next to him. It made him think of things he would rather not think about.

Wolfgang usually walks back through the door long after the sun has gone down. Rajan never sleeps through Wolfgang’s homecoming. He watches blearily, having to grab his glasses from the bedside table to be able to make out more than an indistinct blur, as Wolfgang makes his way into the adjoining bathroom, brushing his teeth, and stripping off his clothes. Wolfgang had gone to sleep nude for quite a significant portion of their lives together, but as he had aged, he had started to wear clothing to bed more, a situation that both Kala and Rajan had agreed was a travesty. He pulls on his boxers and a loose t-shirt, before making his way into the now too-large king size bed.

They meet in the middle of the bed and Rajan tucks his head into the crook of Wolfgang’s neck, subtly scenting for the distinctive smell of alcohol which he is so afraid of. He found himself slumped against Wolfgang in relief every time because it was never there.

A week after Wolfgang began this new habit, as Wolfgang readies himself for leaving in the evening, Rajan joins him. When Wolfgang picks up the hairbrush, Rajan grabs his. When Wolfgang retrieves his keys from the bowl by the door, Rajan gets his as well. Kala’s keys still sit there. Rajan opens the door, placing his hand on the small of Wolfgang’s back. Wolfgang looks at him questioningly, unsure of what exactly is happening. Rajan motions toward the door.

“चलो, हम साथ जा रहे हैं,” he says. His tone of voice is what convinces Wolfgang, who finds himself familiar with the self-assurance and determination that only ever masks Rajan’s fear, no matter the language.

Wolfgang walks through, and they go hand in hand down the street. The further they get from the apartment, the more Rajan wonders where they’re headed. They’ve left downtown behind, exchanging the glass and metal monoliths for smaller, colorful buildings that remind Rajan of Holi. Twenty minutes after they left, Wolfgang stops in front of a white building, clearly a home, with a sign on the front in several languages:

 

अंग्रेजी सबक, हर शाम सात बजे

English Language Lessons, every day at 7pm

ஆங்கிலம் பாடங்கள், ஒவ்வொரு மாலை ஏழு மணிக்கு

ইংরেজি পাঠ, প্রতি সন্ধ্যায় সন্ধ্যা 7 টা

ഇംഗ്ലീഷ് പാഠങ്ങൾ, ഏഴ് മണി വൈകുന്നേരം

ఆంగ్ల పాఠాలు, ఏడు సాయంత్రం ప్రతి సాయంత్రం

इंग्रजी पाठ, संध्याकाळी 7 वाजता प्रत्येक संध्याकाळी

ಇಂಗ್ಲೀಷ್ ಪಾಠ, ಪ್ರತಿ ಸಂಜೆ ಏಳು ಗಂಟೆಗೆ

 

Rajan smiles when he sees the sign. Tension he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying melted off of him. “I should have realized.”

“Я думал, ты бы это понял. Прости.”

Together, they walk in.

\---

They have exchanged reading in the evenings, which occurred mostly at Kala’s insistence and almost never resulted in actual reading, for German in the morning. Over breakfast, Wolfgang and Rajan sit next to each other and pore over his notes from English class the night before. He translates the words into careful German, which Rajan repeats haltingly.

“I lohve you,” Wolfgang said. Rajan hummed approvingly.

“Ich. Liebe. Dich. Ich liebe dich,” Wolfgang continued.

“Eh. Leebe. Deh,” Rajan repeated.

Wolfgang broke into a grin like sunshine. “Ich liebe dich auch.”

Rajan smiled, “मैं तुमसे प्यार करता हूँ.” Rajan carefully took Wolfgang’s hand in his, folding them together. “Do this one.”

“This? Äh, my name is Wolfgang and I like—” he paused, looking down at the paper where the word “blue” was neatly printed. “Rajan. My name is Wolfgang and I like Rajan.”

Rajan smiled.

\---

Wolfgang had nightmares, back when he was more _homo sapiens_ than _homo sensorium_. He spent his nights reliving the unhappy events of his life, only to shudder awake to the dimness of morning. He was trapped, wallowing in the madness of his family and his heritage.

The addition of seven other people to his head was a welcome relief.

Now, so many years later, he found that he was alone in his head once again. He wondered how the _homo sapiens_ handle it; he certainly couldn’t. But, when he looked at the state of the world, Wolfgang wondered if anyone could really handle being alone in their heads. Maybe that was the root of the problem.

He shudders awake now, just like he used to, to new dawns and an older world. Somehow, it is worse this time. He knows there is something else out there, another option which is infinitely greater, but out of his reach.

\---

Nomi and Amanita died together.

They had been walking home, hand in hand. They were in Paris, where they had made their home in the spacious attic apartment of Amanita’s dreams. They had wandered around the world after their marriage, living the high life, but eventually they had decided Paris was the best place for them.

The cluster had just turned sixty-three, or at least four of them had. Four were lost to the ages, frozen in time.

Amanita was chattering to Nomi excitedly, telling her about her misadventures in the market earlier that morning. Wolfgang had been listening in with half an ear, amused, as he performed maintenance on his many and varied illegal weapons.

The car that came screeching toward them was completely unexpected. It came out of nowhere. It mowed them both down in seconds flat. Amanita had turned to see what the loud noise was before she was thrown back by the force of the car hitting her. Wolfgang will never forget watching her slide across the pavement, watching the flesh of her face—the face that he loved because he was Nomi but also because he was Wolfgang—become disfigured as it scraped against the hard concrete, going eighty kilometers an hour. He never saw what she looked like as her broken body lay on the pavement. Nomi was hit then, and she went flying, too. Wolfgang held Nomi in his arms as she died. The tears ran down his face and dripped onto her, before the three remaining of the cluster were roughly shoved away as death took hold. They cannot visit after the person dies.

Of all the cluster’s deaths, Nomi’s was the most pointless. It had just been a senseless, tragic accident, and there was nothing to say other than that.

Wolfgang tried not to think about it.

\---

Two months after Kala’s death, Wolfgang decided enough was enough and started to pack his bags. He dragged out two suitcases. Meticulously, he checked each of his weapons, and when satisfied, set them down in their proper place within the suitcase.

Rajan appeared behind him a few minutes after Wolfgang had spontaneously started to get ready to leave.

“Where are we going?” Rajan asked.

“Oh, nowhere in particular.”

“Funny, I’ve always wanted to go there.”

\---

The thing they had forgotten all those years ago is this: the fall of an organization is not the fall of its ideology. When Nazi Germany fell, neo-Nazism found its place in the modern world. The fall of American slavery was only that: the end of slavery. Its fall heralded a new, modern age of systemic racism and exploitation. The fall of the Biologic Preservation Organization ended one organization’s genocide, but it did not end the genocide. Other organizations and people will rise to take their place.

It was an important thing to forget. The Archipelago had thought they were entering a new age of safety and happiness. Sensates celebrated across the world. They were more careless than they had been in decades, and every cluster paid for it.

Wolfgang paid with the deaths of two of his other selves.

He tried not to think about it.

\---

Wolfgang loved the feeling of the wheel under his hands. He pressed the gas pedal just to feel the way the car spurted forward, the way the engine vibrated through the whole car. The highway was wide open, completely empty of other cars. He took the speed limit more as a suggestion than a rule.

The windows were open, the sunshine and wind was in his hair. The music—99 Luftballons—was blaring through the car. Wolfgang was singing along, as loud as he possibly could, practically shouting the words without taking in their meaning. There was green on either side of them, a beautiful view down into the valley. He was grinning. Rajan took the hand Wolfgang had left between them on the console, intertwining their fingers.

All of a sudden, it was too much. He felt like he did when Capheus drove, when Kala held his hand, when Riley’s infectious music spread through the whole cluster and they all bobbed their heads along.

Wolfgang turned slightly, making sure to keep the bright smile on his face. “You drive.”

Rajan startled. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, absolutely! Give it a go. It’ll be fun,” Wolfgang said.

As Wolfgang pulled to the side of the road so Rajan could take over, Rajan mulled over Wolfgang’s words. “Give it a go?” he muttered. “He can’t even remember the word ‘it’.”

Rajan drove until sunset.

\---

Capheus died surrounded by the cluster. The slums of Nairobi were dangerous for everyone, but most especially for the powerful. Somewhere along the way, that is what Capheus had become: the powerful.

Capheus made it a point to walk without bodyguards. He mingled with the people, and made sure to hear their stories. He shook hands, kissed babies, and spread his infectious grin wherever and whenever he could. Capheus Onyango was well-liked, well-respected, and considered the champion of the common man. He was known for being, above all, a fundamentally good person. He was a rising political star in Kenya. People like that always make enemies, and Capheus made them.

The cluster had thought, naively, that their combined experience meant that no bodyguard was necessary. He was known for forgoing a bodyguard, it was one of the reasons the people loved him. He did not signal distrust or separation from them. He was one of them. Capheus could not and would not have a bodyguard. He was insistent, and the cluster agreed.

Later, they discovered that Capheus had been revealed as a sensate, among the circles that knew of them. Perhaps it was when the video of him discussing medication options with an elderly woman surfaced online, using terminology and training that seemed more suited to someone in the medical profession. Perhaps it was when he deftly made use of his unprecedented computer skills, which no one raised in the slums of Nairobi could have mastered. Perhaps it was when he spoke so passionately about the connectedness of humanity, about how the divides of wealth and status, of culture and language, are meaningless in the face of our fundamental commonalities. (Perhaps it was the fact that he switched languages while he did it, from English to Spanish to Swahili to French to German to Korean and back again.) Later, they learned his death was more than a political move by the corrupt elite. Later, they learned Capheus was the first, but he would not be the last. His death was part of the new genocide; consider it the second act in the war on sensates’ existences. BPO was the first, but another would always come, and will always come. _They should have known._

The knife was in his back, without warning. In half a second, another was in his neck. Capheus was dead within a minute.

The last words of Capheus were the worst Wolfgang had ever heard up to that point in his life. “My friends, you mean the world to me. Thank you." Capheus's eyes began to dim. "Thank you.”

And that was that.

Wolfgang tried not to think about it.

\---

The part of India that Wolfgang and Rajan stopped in was rural, far away from the cities which pollute the air and the people. They had pulled over to the side of the dirt road, where they could see nothing but nature for miles around. The stars shone in the sky. It was not the most beautiful thing Rajan had ever seen, but it was close. (There is a picture he has, one he never showed the others. They are all three sitting together, minutes before the beginning of their marriage ceremony, the real one with all three of them that was made out of a love and depth of commitment he did not know when he married only Kala. They are smiling together. Kala is whispering something in Rajan’s ear. Wolfgang is holding both of their hands. Wolfgang looks at them with an expression Rajan never saw on his face in person, but Rajan always wondered if it is the same one Rajan has when he watches his spouses while they are turned away from him, momentarily not looking: an expression full of the knowledge that he loves these people, but also that he is loved by them in return. That photograph is the most beautiful thing Rajan has ever seen.)

Wolfgang turns to him and grins, opening the sunroof. Rajan made a face, like he always does when Wolfgang does this.

“Are we not too old for this? What if we fall off? How are we even going to get down?” Rajan said. Wolfgang rolled his eyes. “Wolfgang! I am seventy-four years old! I refuse. We are not doing this.”

“Doch, werden wir.”

“मैं तुमसे नफ़रत करता हूं.”

Wolfgang crawled out of the sunroof, onto the top of the car. Rajan grabbed the blanket from the backseat before slithering out. He stayed firmly in the center, refusing to look over the side.

“If I break my hip and die, I blame you.”

“No die. Look.” Wolfgang pointed into the sky. “Sterne. The lights? In English?”

“The stars.”

“Look, the stars.” Wolfgang settled the blanket under them both, cushioning themselves against the hard metal of the roof. They both lay on their backs, looking up. The night was clear, the stars were above them. Rajan felt content. They pressed themselves against each other, feeling each other’s warmth against the slight chill of the night air. They lay together up there for a long time, away from the world and all its failings.

Wolfgang looked up at the stars spinning in the void above him and laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everything that isn't english comes from google translate. corrections are appreciated! (cultural corrections would be nice too if I'm super wrong on something. I didn't really include a lot of culture partly because of my laziness about researching but if something pops up anywhere, let me know!)
> 
> also, constructive criticism is welcome! this story is partly an exercise in improving my writing skills. I'd love to hear feedback
> 
> Comments feed my soul
> 
> You can pm me at my tumblr, cventhe


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING AT END OF NOTES
> 
> Sorry for how long it took! I kept putting off working on it, which has been incredibly easy with all the work I have to do for uni to be honest. But! It's finally here! (and mostly unedited. I promise I'll get around to it soon but I just really wanted to get this up before I lost the motivation again)
> 
> I almost cried in the middle of the library while I was writing this. Recommendation: do not read in the middle of the library.
> 
> Chapter 4 will be ready soon!

“Capheus. Riley. Sun. Will. Nomi. Lito.” Wolfgang paused. “Kala.”

“Hm?” Rajan muttered, absorbed in the enormous maps he had spread across his lap. “So I think we might be here.” He pointed to a road on one of the maps. “But, also we could be here.” He shuffled through to another map, pointing to an entirely different region. “Or maybe around here?” He pulled out a map Wolfgang hadn’t even seen him take out and pointed at the center of India. “It’s hard to tell.”

Wolfgang raised his eyebrow, with the idle thought that Kala would have been able to figure out exactly where they were. (And, for just half a second, he imagined the whole cluster together, laughing, as they navigated being lost. But, it had been an infinity since all of them were together, so the idea faded almost as soon as it came, lost in its unlikelihood.)

\---

Riley and Will lived together, in Chicago mostly, but sometimes elsewhere. It had been two endless years since Capheus’ death, and Wolfgang could feel Riley’s restlessness, her discontent with life. Clusters lose something undefinable with the loss of one of their number. Perhaps it is a loss of identity, of who they are as people and as one person together. Maybe it is a loss of innocence, a sudden knowledge that eventually they will all be lost to one another. Maybe it is more than all of that. Wolfgang doesn't know. Whatever it is, Capheus’ loss was more than just the loss of a loved one. Wolfgang knows that. Capheus’ death was the most painful thing to ever happen to him, and every death since has been just as heart-rending.

Riley, though. Riley. Wolfgang thought about Riley’s death often. It is a sad thing that the death of a person often overshadows their life. Wolfgang wonders sometimes if he thinks about the deaths of his other selves more than he thinks about how much he loves them.

Riley’s death was avoidable. They should have seen it coming, known there was a present danger. For two years they let each other drown in grief, a feedback loop of never-ending misery. It cost them another life. It cost Riley her life.

\---

BPO’s downfall was its sheer connectedness. It was a global superpower, intent on one goal. The Biologic Preservation Organization relied on its funds, its hierarchy, and its network. It made it easy to kill, to crack its spine and cut open its head and crush its heart. BPO’s successor had none of those weaknesses.

As much as BPO was a looming, ever-present threat, the next organization was shadowy. It had no head, no one telling each arm what to do. Rather, it seemed to form out of nothing, independently, from the remains of BPO left scattered around the world. Even as Glasgow developed an active organization, the Scottish countryside had another, entirely separate. Even as they took down one organization, there was always another ready to fill its place.

It was a cult founded on hate, not on salaries.

Somehow, the new organization was much more terrifying than the old one.

\---

Wolfgang never learned how they caught on to Riley; he had not even an inkling of a suspicion. It was just that one day, Riley thought she was being followed home. It was not because she saw anyone necessarily, but because she felt eyes crawling across her skin. Wolfgang could feel them, too.

In an instant, Will was walking with her, holding her hand. Wolfgang was on her other side, arm slung over her shoulder, and Sun was just a half step behind them. Nomi was already scanning the security cameras of Lagos. They could find no one. Still, they all felt as if someone was there.

\---

Sex had always been something all three of them shared together. Even as they aged, Rajan and Wolfgang rarely split off with each other or Kala. It was a shared moment.

\---

They tried, they really did. It was in an obscure area, somewhere in Europe by that point, that they first tried. The tension was palpable as Rajan and Wolfgang awkwardly put the seats in the back of the car down in an attempt to create a space to enjoy each other in. The doors were locked; they had hung sheets and blankets over the windows in an effort at privacy. Wolfgang found that, cushioned with blankets and pillows, the car was perfectly serviceable for sex with his husband--and in any case, he had certainly had sex in much odder places over the course of his life. Still, he found himself avoiding Rajan’s eyes as he pulled his shirt over his head in the soft light of the comfortable cocoon they had made for themselves.

Wolfgang heard as Rajan undid the zipper to his jeans. Wolfgang had flashbacks to all three of them--Kala undoing the button and zipper with her tongue and teeth, Wolfgang delightedly manhandling Rajan as he unbuttoned his work shirts for him and pulled his undershirt off, the look of delight on Kala’s face as she fucked Wolfgang with Rajan’s birthday gift. He forced himself to pull off his pants.

Rajan was on his knees in front of Wolfgang, the both of them awkwardly crouched to accommodate the roof of the car. Rajan had already taken off his shirt, and his pants were stuck at his knees. He still had his boxers on. Wolfgang felt as if Kala was just behind his back, ready to join them and have fun together.

He smiled softly, shifting in an effort to get his pants off. Finally, Rajan came over, chuckling under his breath, and helped to tug them off. Wolfgang returned the favor.

They looked at each other and smiled. Wolfgang leaned in for a kiss. This they could do. Kissing was easy. He smiled into Rajan, stroking his tongue along the other man’s lips. Rajan gripped his neck with gentle fingers and wrapped an arm around his waist. Wolfgang found his hand reaching up to cradle Rajan’s head.

Rajan began to reach down, starting to tug off Wolfgang’s boxers. Wolfgang let him, for a moment. He indulged in the illusion that Kala was right there, watching them lazily before she would join. But, it was only an illusion and pretending it was anything more began to be too much as the boxers slipped down below his waist.

Wolfgang pulled away just a bit, putting a hand over Rajan’s arm.

“Not right now.” Wolfgang looked Rajan in the eyes, allowing some of his grief to show on his face. “Just, not now.”

“Alright. That’s alright.”

Wolfgang pulled the boxers back up, before running his hands through Rajan’s hair. They went back to kissing.

\---

Sometimes, Wolfgang felt like they were still with him, like the connection hadn’t been cut, like they weren’t dead and gone. He thinks, for just a fraction of a second, that they’re all together, laughing. The utter joy and happiness radiating into his brain is such a welcome relief. Wolfgang thinks he’s with them. But then, he remembers they’re not there at all. He’s alone in his head again.

\---

Riley died in the middle of “Bohemian Rhapsody.” It was a cold night. She was walking home alone. Will would regret that he had not gone with her until the end of his days, but Wolfgang privately was grateful he had not. Wolfgang had no doubt that had Will decided to walk with Riley that evening, he would have lost two of his cluster that night instead of one.

Wolfgang had been singing along softly, dancing a little as he cleaned the kitchen while Kala and Rajan were still at work. His head was bobbing and he was mouthing the words to himself.

Out of nowhere, a bang. Wolfgang shot to his feet, immediately by Riley’s side. He could feel his body crumpling over the sink at home as Riley’s did the same in a back alley in Reims. Around him, the cluster appeared over her body, each reaching out. Riley was slumped against the wall of a building, her eyes wide. Blood leaked out of her chest. Her eyes closed, and Wolfgang was abruptly ripped away from the scene.

He cannot remember the rest of that day, or the day after it, or even the day after that. It takes time before he remembers the rest of the world again.

\---

Think of it like this: Rajan in the driver’s seat, grinning along to the French-Canadian country music as he drives through the prairies of Manitoba. Wolfgang in the backseat, stretched out along the floor, asleep.

\---

“When you were young, where did you think you would be now?” Rajan asks.

Wolfgang pauses for a moment, thinking. Finally, he raises his head and gestures out to the ocean spread before them, as they lay on a nameless beach in Colombia. “Somewhere far away from here.”

\---

Wolfgang knows, OK? He knows. He understands perfectly why he decided, a few weeks after Kala’s death, that it was time to see the world. He gets it. But, that still doesn’t mean he has to think about it.

(He thinks about it anyway. The knowledge sits in the back of his mind every time he stands in a new country, in a new place, with Rajan at his side: The closest Wolfgang can get to living multiple lives is waking up in a new place every day, surrounded by foreign lands, foreign languages, foreign foods.)

\---

Wolfgang often thinks that the happiest moments of his life were the ones in which he found himself surrounded by the cluster in the quiet between minutes of a day. He likes to imagine sitting on his couch at home and having the others join him, sprawling along the floor and the sides of the sofa until he finds himself utterly surrounded by warmth and kindness. He can almost feel the gentle hum of contentedness spreading through them all.

\---

Sun died years after Riley, at least a decade. They had all learned vigilance by that time. The loss of two of their number was more than enough of a lesson. They refused to lose any more.

They all learned to borrow Will’s training. Scout out the exits when you walk into a room. Take a note of each person, what they look like, distinguishing marks. How to spot a concealed weapon, how to hide their own weapons. Necklaces as garrotes, knives in shoes, learning to use elbows and knees to the most devastating effect.

They all learned; they used the fighting they knew and they asked the experts and they learned how to defend themselves better than they ever had before.

Sometimes, however much effort you put into it, it won’t be enough.

Sun dies at dawn in her bed, without warning. They never figured out exactly how it happened. All they know is that one moment she was fine and the next she was dead, without pain or suffering or any indication at all that something was wrong.

They all died that day, in one way or another. Sun was gone and that was the end and Wolfgang almost jumped off the balcony. Kala told Rajan they had to move to the first floor because sometimes the temptation got to be too much for the both of them, when they were home alone and the railing was really not that high. Wolfgang had never seen someone go as pale as Rajan did.

They all had moments like that, after Sun died. Perhaps three was just too many, enough to collectively unhinge them all. Regardless, Wolfgang found himself contemplating the merits of a bullet to the brain, the respective pain and quickness of a noose in comparison to a quick drop from a height. He thought about the effectiveness more than anything. His eyes lingered over the stainless steel knives in the kitchen as he chopped vegetables for dinner.

Wolfgang could feel the others doing the same, but they always watched out for each other. Thinking it, that was fine. Even the slightest motion towards doing it, and someone would step in. They would have to step in, they learned, when Wolfgang found Will crying on the floor with a razor in his hand and blood already painting the floor of the bathroom red. They found out when Wolfgang didn’t know the emergency number in Argentina and had to clutch at Will’s bloodied arm with tears in his eyes for horrifying minutes until Nomi had managed to get the ambulance there.

It was too late.

\---

Imagine experiencing death.

Then, imagine experiencing it again and again, three, four, five, six, seven times.

It is easy to know that the effect is not a good one.

\---

Lito grew more withdrawn as they aged. As their numbers grew smaller and their hopes dimmer, as a nameless organization rose and smothered Wolfgang’s cluster in is grasp, Lito just stopped talking quite as much. He clung to Hernando and Dani at night.

Wolfgang, Kala, Nomi, and Lito found themselves with each other often. As Wolfgang sat by his window, Lito would appear next to him, and they would spend a few minutes together, brushing shoulders as they gazed out at the street. Nomi usually popped in a for a few minutes, settling down beside them. Sometimes, Kala would join, if there was a slow moment at work.

Wolfgang liked to watch from the window as it rained. He liked it best when the others joined him.

\---

Lito died last year. They think it was a heart attack. The pain in his arm was mild, and then acute. It didn’t last long.

Kala had learned the year before that a new drug was on the rise, that certain governments and organizations had begun to use it. It induced heart attacks.

At the time, Wolfgang wondered when he and Kala were next.

Now, he just wonders when his own time will come.

He hopes he dies before Rajan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone commits suicide and others have suicidal thoughts


	4. Chapter 4

It had taken five years of travel to end up in Australia, the latest destination. Rajan and Wolfgang were in the desert of New South Wales, heading into Queensland. They had a rented van, packed full of huge cases of water, food, and only one duffle bag of clothes between the two of them (a decision they had begun to regret as the sweltering heat of December turned their limited supply of t-shirts rank in no time).

It was in the midst of this, the van’s engine humming, not a soul but the two of them all the way to the horizon, Wolfgang at the wheel and Rajan holding one of his hands that Rajan decided to turn and say, “This isn’t working.”

Wolfgang started, and hit the brakes. Eyes wide, he turned to Rajan. “What’s not working?”

“This. Going from place to place. We have been to fifty-six countries, Wolfgang, and I have not seen you happy in a single one of them.”

Wolfgang sighed. He reached over the center console and tugged Rajan over, placing himself so that their shoulders touched.

“What do you suggest then?” Wolfgang shuddered, then released a breath. “Because I am trying.”

“I know,” Rajan said. Wolfgang tucked his head into Rajan’s chest. Rajan placed his hand in Wolfgang’s hair, brushing through it gently. Wolfgang slowly relaxed.

“Wolfgang, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. It’s almost certainly not a smart idea, and we can forget about it if you want, but I can’t help but think that it might be at least a little better than what we’ve been doing.” Rajan spoke slowly, voice just above a whisper, and Wolfgang felt himself begin to tense again. Rajan continued. “I thought, and I don’t know how successful we’ll be, or if it will even make a difference, but I was thinking that maybe we could take down one of the branches.” He paused. “One of the headquarters. I was thinking Santiago.”

Wolfgang looked up. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

Wolfgang pushed off Rajan and returned to the driver’s side, hands back on the steering wheel. His knuckles were white. “Just the two of us?”

“Yes.”

Wolfgang breathed out. “How?”

\---

Here is the sum total of Wolfgang’s knowledge of Santiago: Santiago is the capital of Chile. Chile is a South American country on the west coast of the continent. Chile is the long one on the side. Hernando spent three years in Santiago from the ages of ten to thirteen when his father took a job there.

Here is a severely excerpted portion of Rajan’s knowledge of Santiago: Santiago is the capital of Chile. Chile is a South American country on the west coast of the continent. Santiago’s population grew exponentially after three revolutions resulted in the first government of its kind. [...] Today, Santiago is known across the world as a center of trade, but most importantly as a center of a liberal thought that drives thinkers, scientists, and students from across the world to move there. Santiago’s success on the world stage is considered one of the main reasons that Spanish has overtaken English as the acknowledged lingua franca of the modern world. [...] Ultimately, despite Santiago’s dramatic entrance onto the world stage, it remains a slave to its past. [...] Santiago’s streets are often considered chaotic, but the map is simple to memorize for someone with dedication. [...] If you turn right at Hospital Nuestra Señora De Lourdes, the headquarters will be on the left. It is a grey, concrete building, only three stories high. They have a permit for a basement that is 2 stories deep. The basement stretches 17 stories underground. [...]

\---

Rajan spent three years planning Santiago. If anything convinced him that he needed to worry, it was that Wolfgang never suspected a thing.

Wolfgang has known about Santiago for two years and eight months.

\---

Santiago is vibrant and colorful in a way that Mumbai cannot hope to live up to. Wolfgang hates everything about it on sight, but then, he reasons, he is a little biased.

\---

Wolfgang surveyed the plan Rajan had created. Here was the map, there was the plan. Here were the explosives to blow the place to smithereens during the monthly leadership meeting. Wolfgang felt himself freeze.

“There may be prisoners. We can’t do this,” he said.

Rajan shook his head. “I thought of that awhile ago. There aren’t any.”

Wolfgang’s eyebrows rose. “None?”

“They prefer torture and death at the time and site of capture.”

This is what they think: let it be mistaken for gang violence, for terrorism, for anything other than the systematic genocide that it was. Let it never be traced back to the base of operations. But it was, and Wolfgang was glad for it.

\---

On the 21st of July, they set off the explosives. Wolfgang presses the button with the slightest of grins on his face. The building goes up in flames. It is one of the most beautiful things he has ever seen.

\---

On the 22nd of October in 2061, Wolfgang dies an hour away from Victoria Falls. He had fallen asleep in the passenger seat, and when Rajan went to shake him awake, he was gone. It was a peaceful death. It was everything Wolfgang’s life had never been. Rajan cried all the same, and fell asleep three weeks later in a hotel room two blocks away from where he grew up. He never woke again.

The death of a loved one is the death of yourself. Death begets death. This is love.

\---

On the 23rd of October in the year 2061, a soul is born into the world. It has been born in ages past, and it will be born again in ages to come. It is born in Lahore, in the wilderness of the Brazilian Amazon, in Montréal, in Gokayama, in the Mongolian steppe, in Istanbul, in Gweru, in Belfast. It is born in the nadir and the zenith of the day, in eight bodies who are one soul.


End file.
